The Inner Thoughts of SH
by jamesgatz1925
Summary: The inner thoughts of Sherlock as he tells John...well, just read it. I do not own these characters.


**How It Happened: The Thoughts Of Sherlock Holmes**

_Stop smiling. I look like an idiot. I don't usually look like an idiot. God, stop it, Sherlock. You're embarrassing yourself._

"How was your day, John?"

"Oh, you know. Normal day. Some kid came in today that had a tent pole sticking through his arm. Well, he wasn't a kid. He was probably 23. But they're all kids to me, you know?"

"Oh, yes. Tragic."

"Yeah. How was your day?"

_Awful. I couldn't stop thinking about you. I got literally nothing done. This shirt? I wore it yesterday because I couldn't function well enough to do laundry._

"Oh, you know. Just sat around waiting for Lestrade to need me."

John smiled, "You do that well."

Sherlock smiled.

_Idiot. Stop smiling like this. If I look away quickly he won't notice. _He looked away quickly.

John gave his a confused look and leaned forward against the back of the chair, "You all right? You're acting strange."

_No, I'm dying from the inside out. Stop looking at me, you're making me nervous. Are my palms sweating? They've never done that before. AHHHHHH! _Sherlock screamed in his head.

"I'm fine."

"Good. Dinner?"

_God, no, please. I can't possibly sit normally across the table from you. _

"Sure."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere, it doesn't matter to me."

"Angelo's? Your favorite."

_Marry me?_

"As you wish."

_As you wish? What the hell?_

"What the hell?" Sherlock said, mostly to himself.

"Did you say something?"

"We'll leave in ten."

John gave him a confused, suspicious look, "Ok…"

_How did I let it get like this? I had it all under control. My feelings towards John were mine to bare, mine to have to stumble through. Then, I had to open my big, stupid mouth and actually admit that I like him. Stupid, idiot Lestrade. How does he get me to talk when I don't want to? _

Sherlock and John were walking down the street on their way to Angelo's. John was looking straight ahead and sort of marching like he always does. Sherlock, however, unlike usual, was stumbling over the street like a complete spaz.

_What the hell is wrong with you, Sherlock? You like John, that doesn't mean your legs are broken. Stop stumbling. _

"Nice out, huh?" John asked, gazing into the sky.

"Hmm? Oh, yes."

_A week ago, I was perfectly fine. Smooth, suave, Sherlock. Remember? I was fine. I admired John from a distance and never said anything. Even though I wanted to. I still want to, just do it. _

"Not too cold out, huh?"

"No, it's perfect."

_I never even wanted to embrace this. A month ago, when I got an inkling of an idea that I like him I didn't care, I wanted to push it away. Then, he kept being overly superb and fantastic and my mind was clouded with it, remember? _

"I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow. I have plans to visit Harry."

"Dreadful."

John looked at Sherlock.

"I didn't mean it like that, sorry."

_I let it just happen. Remember? A month ago when I thought, yeah, I might like John. But oh well. He'll never like me back, get over it. _

_Then, stupid, stupid Greg. "Do you like him, Sherlock?" He asked me. "Are you sure you don't, Sherlock? You can tell me. I know how it feels to need to get something off your chest. I can keep a secret." And I had to agree. "Yeah, Greg. I like him." I had to say. _

_Stupid. Idiot. What is wrong with me? Now this is all I can think about. This superb, fantastic creature standing next to me. _

Sherlock looked over at this superb, fantastic creature next to him, but he wasn't there. John had stopped five feet back, in front of Angelo's.

"Sherlock, we're here." John pointed at the door, looking at Sherlock concerned and confused.

"Superb."

"What?"

"N-nothing. Great."

"Are you ok?"

"Of course."

"You're acting really, really strange."

"I'm-"

_What the hell is wrong with my voice? Why am I squeaking?_

Sherlock cleared his throat, "I'm fine."

The two men sat and ate dinner alone in the back of the restaurant. Small talk was made, it wasn't all that important. Sherlock wasn't really paying attention.

"So, a woman came in today that took too many pain killers. I had to pump her stomach."

_You're a very attractive man, John._

"Dreadful."

"Yeah. And a guy came in that had a mad case of pneumonia."

_You smell so nice, John._

"Oh, awful."

"This other man came in today that had an erection lasting more than four hours."

_I love you, John._

_Wait, what? _

_When did that happen? _

_Oh, right. _

_Somewhere between St. Bart's and 221B Baker Street, somewhere between killing a cabbie and offering to choke Moriarty for me, somewhere between colleague and friend._

"Oh, that's the worst."

John forcefully set his fork down and looked at Sherlock, "All right," he crossed his hands in front of his face and stared at the man across from him, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, I ju-tht-" Sherlock cut himself off and blinked five times at his plate, as if trying to rewind three minutes to before he lisped. Horrible, horrible grade school memories were flooding back to him.

"Did you just-"

"Shut up."

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John sounded concerned.

_No time like the present. _

"Look, John," Sherlock crossed his hands the same way, "There comes a time in a man's life when he," Sherlock swallowed, "When he divorces his work and falls in love with a…person."

_Breath. _

"Oh?"

"An ex-army doctor, to be precise."

_Breath, Sherlock._

John is silent, then speaks. "Oh?" is all he says.

"John, it appears that I love you. And it's ok that you don't love me, I've embraced it, and now that I've told you, I can get over it."

_Breath, breath, keep breathing. _

"Is," John puts his hands down and rubs his palms against his jeans, "Is that it?"

_What? What the hell do you mean is that it? I just told you I love you and you ask if that's it? This is huge, John. No, no, maybe not to you. But to me. I have feelings! REAL human emotions! This isn't IT. _

"W-what do you mean?"

John chuckled, "I know, Sherlock."

"H-how?"

_Why are you stuttering, you freakin' idiot? You LISP, remember? Don't add another speech impediment! _

"I figured it out," John smiled fondly at himself and cut into his pasta, "I deduced it." He gave Sherlock a sly little smile and bit his pasta.

_Oh, God, you magnificent man. Is it possible that I under estimated you? Because I did, I really did._

"How?"

"It wasn't that hard, really. I just thought about what would be wrong with me in that situation, and came to that conclusion."

"Oh?"

"You're not as mysterious as you think."

"I see." Sherlock sipped his wine.

"Listen, Sherlock," John put down his fork again and stared at Sherlock, "Although I'm flattered by your interest,"

_Oh God, here it comes._

"I consider myself in a relationship with my flat mate."

_Wait, what? Come again? When did this happen? Oh, yes, somewhere between Afghanistan or Iraq? and ripping your clothes off in a darkened swimming pool._

"So, attached? Like me? Good."

John smiled.

Sherlock smiled.

"Should we kiss or something?" Sherlock asked.

"You'd better get to kissing me in about thirty seconds, Mister Holmes, or else I'm going to-"

Sherlock didn't hear the end of that threat, for his lips were against John's quicker than he even knew what was going on.

_Perfect. This. Is. Perfect. _


End file.
